


That's What He Said

by xenospider



Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Closeted Character, High School, Identity Issues, Identity Reveal, M/M, Misunderstandings, Secret Identity, Spideytorch Week 2017, Trans Character, Trans Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenospider/pseuds/xenospider
Summary: Peter's given name was Dorothy. That's what everyone knew him as up until the end of high school. Johnny Storm ended up attending the same school, and sharing a couple classes with him. Johnny has known Spider-Man for years, but he doesn't meet Peter until after he gets to know "Dorothy" for a while first.Oneshots of trans!Peter and Johnny for Spideytorch week 2017, taking place over a period of years as their relationship develops.Explicit rating is for chapter 6 only. All other chapters are rated Teen+.





	1. Day 1: First / Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is frequently late to class, because he can't keep himself from stopping crime on the way to school. Johnny's frequently late to class because he's Johnny, and probably has ADHD. They end up in detention together, and Johnny takes the opportunity to ask Peter (who he thinks is "Dorothy") for help with his classes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These 7,500 words could easily be 40k, and I apologize that I'm not able to provide that. It feels rushed as it is, but that is the trade off for having it done at all. :)
> 
> I'm going to use this AU for the entire week, so there's that at least.

The first time they kiss. The last time Johnny calls Peter his old name.

* * * * * * * * * *

Peter was in big trouble.

Flipping through the air, throwing out an arm to shoot a webline to the next building down the street, he felt the burn as he swung as fast as his enhanced musculature could carry him. A low swing took him down into traffic, and he shouted out apologies as drivers and pedestrians alike made angry noises and honked at him. No matter how fast he went, though, it wouldn’t make up for the extra half hour he’d lost from coming across a D list villain smashing up a jewelry store. He’d had to stop and take care of the problem.

Now he was in trouble, because he was late to geography class. Again.

For the third time that week.

Swearing to himself under his breath, Peter latched onto the outside north wall of Midtown High, the side away from the street. He squeezed in through the small, high window of the third floor girls’ restroom, dragging his backpack in behind him. The benefit to being late to class, he thought, was that the bathroom was less likely to be occupied.

In the handicapped stall, he changed into his civilian disguise, stuffing his costume into the bottom of his backpack. Without bothering with the mirror, he pulled his hair out of its tight french braid and restrained it in a ponytail.

Backpack slung over his shoulder, he sped down the hallway and headed for the second floor where his class was. Lucky for him, he didn’t run into any faculty on the way, but he was already so late at that point he couldn’t avoid the office’s automated system calling his Aunt May. He was twenty minutes late. That was a new record for him. Shit.

Outside the classroom, he paused with his hand an inch from the doorknob. Maybe he should just skip class and go to his next one. That would save him from the harassment he’d get for making a scene.

The choice was taken out of his hands when someone came skidding around the corner and nearly barreled into him. They would’ve run right into him if his spidey sense hadn’t warned him in time. As it was, he got the impression of a hurried apology and a flash of blond hair before the door opened wide to show a very startled Ms. Jefferson at the front of the classroom.

“Sorry I’m late!” Johnny Storm announced in his obnoxious, loud voice.

No, not _Johnny_. As if Peter didn’t have enough problems, he didn’t need to be showing up late to class at the same time as Johnny kisses-all-the-girls Storm! What good excuse did _he_ have to be late? The skrulls hadn’t been attacking New York that morning, nor had Doctor Doom or any of the other big bad villains that the Fantastic Four always fought. Johnny probably just got distracted by some pretty girls from another class, or maybe he’d taken the time to give his fancy car a turtle wax that morning. There was no way it was as important as saving lives of decent New York citizens. Not that morning, anyway.

Peter felt like Johnny was ruining _his_ reputation, specifically. Even though logically he knew Johnny wouldn’t have had the slightest thought in his head about Peter, it still _felt_ like a Grave Personal Injury. After all, Johnny wasn’t going to have to worry about people teasing him or making insinuations about the two of them making out in the janitor’s closet.

As if Peter would ever do that on school grounds.

Ms. Jefferson cleared her throat and glared at both of them standing in the doorway. “Get to your seats and pull out a sheet of loose leaf paper and a pencil. We’re about to take a quiz.”

That was Ms. Jefferson, straight to the point. And of course there was a quiz. Peter could see Mary Jane halfway down the classroom waving at him frantically to join her. He could also see half a dozen people whispering and gesturing at him and Johnny.

Well, that was his life officially over.

With his face burning, Peter adjusted his glasses and pointedly ignored the sheepish grin Johnny gave him and hurried to take the empty chair next to MJ.

“Where _were_ you, P?” she said in a harsh whisper.

“I’ll tell you later,” Peter hissed, practically ripping his backpack open to pull some paper out of his 3-ring binder. He slapped it down on the desk in front of him and began to copy down the questions that Ms. Jefferson had put on the overhead projector.

Geography was just a bunch of memorization, which was easy as anything for Peter. He recorded notes into his phone, like audio flash cards, and listened to them on his earbuds while he swung around the city during patrol. The edginess he felt from hearing his voice all annoyingly high-pitched helped keep him alert, _and_ he was able to keep up with his learning. Maybe he didn’t turn in all his homework on time, but his test scores were always excellent.

That being the case, he was done with the quiz before anyone else. He brought it up to the front of the room to hand it in, and Ms. Jefferson stopped him.

“Dorothy, this is the third time you were late this week,” she said.

Peter coughed and pursed his lips, looking away from her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Jefferson. It won’t happen again.”

The truth was, with the weather warming up, the criminal elements of the city were out and about more. During the winter it wasn’t such a problem. He very, very rarely ran into any problems before school during the winter. Nobody was interested in robbing banks that early in the morning during a blizzard.

Ms. Jefferson was giving him a look that said she wasn’t going to swallow his bullshit. “You’re a very smart girl. I _know_ you can do better.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know, but I—” He stopped when Mary Jane came up to turn in _her_ paper. Peter’s recorded notes had inspired her to try the same method, and at least her school performance was going up instead of down.

She gave him a sympathetic look before she turned and went back to her seat.

Ms. Jefferson wasn’t done with him yet. “No ‘buts’, Dorothy,” she said. “You were more than ten minutes late today, which means the office is going to call your aunt. And since this is your fifth time being late this quarter, I have to give you detention.”

“ _Detention?_ ”

Yes, detention.

That was where Peter found himself at the end of the school day. While everyone else was pouring out of the building, celebrating the coming of the weekend, Peter was stuck in the language arts classroom that doubled as detention hall. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like it. He was almost praying for a disaster to evacuate the building.

Some part of him knew it was messed up that he’d rather fight Mysterio than sit in detention for a couple hours, but at least in that case he felt like he had some choice in the matter.

The worst of it was that Johnny Storm was in detention _with_ him.

Peter crossed his arms and pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head when mister blondie entered the room. He watched irritably as Johnny turned his slip in to the teacher who was stuck on babysitting duty that afternoon, and moved to take a seat.

What was _he_ doing there? As far as Peter knew, Johnny hadn’t been late five whole times. He must have done something else. Either that, or he was stalking Peter deliberately. That must have been it. There was no other explanation for Peter having such rotten luck that day.

Well, there it was. This was just his Parker Luck™ in action, as usual.

Peter spared a few moments to glare at wonder boy before he went back to his text conversation with MJ. Their “babysitter” was one of the gym teachers, and he didn’t ever take detention seriously, so he didn’t piss and moan about students using their phones or talking to each other quietly. As long as they were trapped there after school, he felt they were paying their dues.

Peter was glad it wasn’t the English teacher he was stuck with that day. That woman was a stickler for the rules.

Maybe if he stayed in his civvies in the morning and took the bus to school, instead of web swinging his way over, he could avoid being late. He couldn’t afford to get into any more trouble.

While in the middle of discussing his plans with Mary Jane to binge watch Stranger Things on Netflix the next day—if his aunt didn’t ground his ass—Peter was interrupted by the heavy thump of a body in the desk next to his.

“Hey, psst. Dottie.”

It was Johnny.

Peter twitched. He _hated_ that nickname. He also hated that his irritation made his cheeks flush, because so many guys misinterpreted the look on his face as some sort of disgusting coy embarrassment or something.

“Don’t call me that,” he said. Even if he couldn’t go by his real name at school yet, he sure as hell didn’t want anyone calling him “Dottie”. _Gross_.

Johnny blinked and leaned back a little, and Peter could see he was startled. “Oh, sorry. Dorothy? Dot?”

Peter tugged on his hood and hunched over his phone. He hated what a popular guy Johnny was, and he hated how effortlessly handsome Johnny was. He hated the way Johnny’s hair curled over his forehead and the way his eyes sparkled. It was annoying enough having to deal with Johnny all the time when he was Spider-Man, but at least when he was Spider-Man, Johnny called him something that he actually was. And Peter could stare at Johnny’s neck all he wanted in costume.

Not being out at school had some benefit at the moment, though. It was easier to keep his identity secret when gender was a factor.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, not trusting himself to say anything else on the matter.

“Uh, okay,” Johnny said. “But, like, I dunno which you prefer?”

“Call me Dot, then,” Peter said. “What do you want, _Johnathan_?”

“Oh! Burn!” Johnny clutched his chest and leaned back, fingers curling in his shirt.

“I’m switching seats.”

“No, no, okay I’m sorry,” Johnny said in a rush as Peter stood up. “I just wanted to say sorry again for almost knocking you over this morning.”

“You’re forgiven. Now please leave me alone.”

“I also wanted to ask you a favor.”

Peter could feel his blood pressure rising. His eyeballs were going to pop straight out of his head. Literally. It was going to be gross. He was going to start bleeding from his nose and ears. He was—

Well, that was some rather frightening and overdramatic imagery that was popping into his head. He settled for rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “What is it?”

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, and Peter tried not to be distracted by how his shirt tugged up around his arms and chest. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Peter saw the gym teacher glance over at them, and decided he had better sit down again for the moment. “Y’know, Storm, flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“I don’t want to get anything,” Johnny said. “I just need help on the chem test, and, uh, was kinda hoping you’d be willing to tutor me.”

Peter snapped his jaw shut. Johnny wanted his help with schoolwork. “This had better not be some kind of ruse.”

“What?” Johnny frowned at him.

“A ruse. You know what _ruse_ means, right?” Peter’s voice squeaked a little on the last syllable. His cheeks flushed, but he said nothing. The longer he was on his meds, the more often his voice was going to crack, so he couldn’t freak out every time it happened.

“No! Dude, I know you’re dating Mary Jane.”

Peter blinked. That was unexpected. That was an _old_ rumor, at least several years old, and Johnny had only started attending their school that year. Which had been Sue’s idea to help him stay better adjusted or something, even if it was only for senior year. In any case, it wasn’t a rumor that Peter thought Johnny would have heard.

“I just want help with my chem test,” Johnny said. “I promise.”

“I’m,” Peter looked down at his phone, then back up at Johnny. “I’m not.”

Johnny held up his hands. “Sorry, it’s cool. We can drop the subject. But can you help me?”

“Sure,” Peter said, feeling a bit at a loss. He was unable to fully process the conversation right then, and it was easiest to agree and worry about it later.

Johnny’s face lit up, and he was way too handsome. Peter kept his jaw clenched shut. Johnny storm was a jerk.

“Great! Um, can you meet me Sunday at the big library? Like, in the afternoon sometime?” Johnny said.

“Give me your number,” Peter said. He typed it into his phone while Johnny recited it, and sent Johnny a text that just said his last name.

On the way home after detention, Peter tried to avoid thinking about how he had Johnny Storm’s number in his phone. His _actual_ phone, not just the burner he used in emergencies when he was Spider-Man. What was he going to tell MJ?

Hey MJ, you know Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, who drives me crazy with how obnoxious he is? With how handsome and popular he is, and how he doesn’t have to wear _any_ masks in his life? Yeah, I’m gonna spend time with him to help him study for chemistry.

It was enough to distract him from how much trouble he was going to be in with his aunt. So when he opened the front door to the house and she was standing right there, he almost dropped his backpack in shock.

“I’m home,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Peter,” she said, folding her arms. She was wearing her scrubs, getting ready to go out for her usual Friday late shift at the hospital. “I heard from your school today. You got sent to detention.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He could feel her disappointment rolling over him in waves, and it felt awful. If there was one thing he hated, it was disappointing his Aunt May. She was so good to him, and he loved her so much. She was unconditionally supportive of him, and all he could do to repay her was get in trouble at school and come home late with odd injuries.

“Where _were_ you?” she said. “Why were you late to class? _Five times_ in the last two months!”

Peter swallowed. All he could do was shrug. Aunt May knew he wasn’t a girl, but she didn’t know that he was Spider-Man. He couldn’t tell her that. Not now, and maybe not ever.

Aunt May ran her hands over her face and up through her hair. “I shouldn’t ask. Asking ‘why’ is just asking for trouble. Just, please, Peter, are you doing drugs? If you’re doing drugs—”

“I’m not!”

“ _If you’re doing drugs_ ,” Aunt May repeated, “you can’t be on the testosterone.”

Peter gaped at her, feeling a rush of panic at the thought. “I—I’m not! Aunt May, I swear I’m not doing drugs. I’m just…”

Aunt May stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. “All right, I believe you. Just please, _please_ Peter, get things sorted out. I’m trying to help, I really am, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s going on with you!”

“Okay,” Peter said, hugging her back.

“I’ve got to get to work. But if I get one more call from your school, there are going to be consequences around here.”

“I’m almost eighteen,” Peter said, feeling defensive in spite of himself.

“We’ve gone over all that before already. I’m not having that conversation again,” Aunt May said.

Yeah, he knew what she’d have to say about it: that he was still in her care, still living in her house, and her rules were in place for his safety, and that it was a matter of showing respect. He knew all that, but it still wasn’t fair. He was Spider-Man; he didn’t need protecting. He was supposed to protect other people. What kind of irresponsible person would he be if he didn’t help someone in trouble when he saw it, even if that meant being late for class?

Weighing someone’s life against detention? He’d pick detention.

“I ordered you a pizza for dinner,” his aunt was saying. “It’s paid for. Should get here within an hour.”

“Thanks, Aunt May,” Peter said.

Sunday took a long time to come around, giving Peter plenty of opportunity to regret his life choices and pray for Galactus to swallow up the city so he wouldn’t have to meet Johnny at the library.

Those were awful, awful, selfish thoughts, and Peter was ashamed of himself even as he indulged in them.

At the end of the study session, Peter had to cope with his expectations being shattered. Johnny hadn’t been even a little late. Instead, he’d been early. Furthermore, he had focused on studying and hadn’t been his usual distracted self. He’d asked a lot of good questions, questions related to concepts that he was having a hard time wrapping his head around. Peter had done his best to reword things in different ways and give Johnny examples and metaphors to help him understand.

“You’re even smarter than I thought you were,” Johnny had said at one point. “Maybe you can help me get my brother-in-law’s rambling!” His laugh had been pleasant. Why did his voice have to be so pleasant? Peter couldn’t help being jealous.

Johnny didn’t ask for follow-up help from him, so Peter thought that was the end of the arrangement. When Johnny passed his chem test with a B, though, he was so excited about it that he texted Peter to share that excitement and thank him all over again. It was due to Peter’s brilliant way of explaining things, he said.

“You should be a teacher,” Johnny texted.

Somehow, absolutely not encouraged at all by Mary Jane, that led to Peter agreeing to help Johnny with the next test. Then, the one after that, and then it was studying for math class too. In fact, they ended up meeting every Sunday regularly for tutoring. Sometimes MJ would join them.

So much for avoiding rumors at school.

Getting to know Johnny more during the study and tutoring sessions was disorienting. Johnny knew him at school as a scruffy nerdy girl, but when he was fighting crime Johnny knew him as the guy who was bitten by a radioactive spider. Johnny didn’t behave very different at school from the way he did when the Fantastic Four were doing their thing, except for the way he and Spider-Man teased and harassed and competed with each other.

Maybe it was Peter who had the context problem. He was the one who was different all the time. He played so many roles, and was only able to be just _Peter_ when he was at home, or out with Mary Jane away from their classmates. He had to be too many people, and he couldn’t wait until graduation so he could finally bury “Dorothy”. Everything would be different after that; he would be going to college as Peter. As himself.

Context definitely became an issue one Saturday in May. Even though they didn’t spend time together at school outside of the one class they shared, Peter was more aware of Johnny. Which was odd, since he’d been pretty aware of him before; Johnny being the flashy guy that he was. Maybe it was because Johnny knew _him_ better now, and he’d wave and smile when their eyes would meet by chance. 

Peter was swinging across town, casually stopping purse snatchers, when he caught sight of Flint Marko—aka Sandman—engaging in some of his usual villainy. Why the justice system couldn’t keep him locked up with all that fancy incarceration technology they were always buying from Tony Stark, Peter had no idea. What he did know was that he had to stop him yet again.

Sometime during the process of driving Sandman towards the East River, planning on wearing him down in the water, the Human Torch arrived on the scene. Peter was actually relieved to see him.

Marko, for his part, was not the least bit happy about the development. The two of them together had thoroughly walloped him a couple of years earlier, which probably had something to do with it. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he claimed, he was just doing someone a quick favor. Why couldn’t they leave him alone?

“Torch, melt him into glass and I’ll get him into the water!” Peter shouted over Marko’s roaring at them. He was pounding on Marko with trash he’d picked up in a bundle of webbing, swinging it around on the end of a webline to keep his distance.

“Wait!” Johnny tossed balls of fire into the fray. “I’ve got an idea! We can keep him occupied until Reed can—”

“Come on, Torchy!” Peter said. “We can take him ourselves! We don’t need Reed!” Once he weakened Sandman in the water, he could toss a spare webbing cartridge into him and have Johnny blow it up. The pressurized webbing exploding inside of him should hold the villain with plenty of time to get better containment arranged.

Maybe Peter was being overconfident, or maybe he was distracted by Johnny’s presence, and that was what allowed Sandman to get a good hit in. Whatever the reason, one moment he was taunting Sandman, and the next he was flying through the air and across the water. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and his head cracked into the side of a tour boat. After that, things went dark.

When he came to, several confusing things were happening. Someone was pinching his nose and pushing up under his chin. That someone’s lips were also covering his, and whoever it was was blowing right into his mouth. Peter coughed, sputtering and swatting at the hands on his face. He was fine now, dammit!

“Spidey! Spidey, buddy, you with me?”

Peter blinked and looked up into the worried face of Johnny Storm. His face burned as he realized what had happened. First of all, embarrassing to be pummeled out of commission by Sandman, and secondly—mouth to mouth resuscitation from the Human Torch.

“I’m alive,” he said, wishing fervently that he was not.

In a move that startled him into immobility, Johnny cupped his face and leaned down, pressing their lips together. That was definitely not in any first aid manual that Peter had ever consulted.

Peter’s problem was that, as rushed as it was, the kiss felt nice. It felt _very_ nice. Johnny’s lips were as nice as they looked.

Oh, no. Was he really thinking that right now? When he had almost drowned?

The kiss lasted a couple quick heartbeats until Johnny jerked back with an apology.

“Geeze, Torch! What gives?” Peter sat up, yanking his wet mask down to hide his red face. The action brought to his attention what he suspected was a fractured cheekbone. Whether that was from the Sandman or the boat he’d smashed into, he couldn’t say. It most certainly would leave an awful bruise until his healing factor took care of it in a couple days.

“Sorry,” Johnny said. “I just, I was worried. You weren’t _breathing_ , man.”

Peter tried to stand up, but was hit by a wave of vertigo and sat back down immediately. He put a hand to his head and looked around to get his bearings. They were on a rooftop near the river, which was blessedly free of bystanders. How was he that lucky? At least no one had seen that display. With smartphones in everybody’s pocket, there would have been photos of the Human Torch kissing Spider-Man plastered all over the internet within minutes. That would have been a fate worse than drowning.

Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about the kiss. Was that one of those “no homo” sort of kisses, or was Johnny _legitimately_ serious? Had Peter missed something? Shit, he had no idea what to think.

Wait a minute.

“Where’s Sandman?”

“He got away.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “He got _away?_ ”

“You weren’t coming out of the water! I couldn’t just leave you there! What do you take me for?” Johnny looked mad.

Peter threw his hands up. “Fine, fine, let’s go track him down.”

“No. You look awful. And you almost _drowned_ ,” Johnny said. “I’m taking you back to the Baxter Building so Reed can check you over.”

Alarm bells. Panic. Reed checking him over meant a scan. A scan meant his anatomy up on a big screen. Confusing feelings about Johnny aside, Peter didn’t want that. He didn’t want Johnny treating him differently. Johnny was a pain in the ass, but he was _Peter’s_ pain in the ass, and he didn’t want to risk Johnny changing his behavior if he knew Peter was trans.

Maybe he could talk to Reed privately. Except he wasn’t ready to out himself to _any_ of the Fantastic Four.

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll just go home.”

“Seriously, Spidey? It’s no big deal, he’ll check you over and then we can order a pizza or something while he figures out how to contain Sandman.”

“I said _no_ , Johnny!” Peter shouted. Unfortunately for him, his voice chose that moment to crack.

Peter was mortified.

Ignoring the look on Johnny’s face, Peter scrambled to his feet, steading himself against the wave of vertigo. Without another word to Johnny, he leaped off the building and headed off towards home. Johnny could have followed him without any effort, but he didn’t.

At the hiding spot where he’d stashed his civvies, Peter changed out of his costume as fast as he could. No way was he swinging all the way home in wet spandex. Not to mention that his binder was soaked, and in his haste and frustration to get out of it he accidentally ripped it in half. Hot tears tracked down his cheeks as he dug his extra sports bras out of the bottom of his backpack. That had been his favorite binder.

Had Peter been so focused on hiding himself that he’d missed some cues from Johnny? The companionable arm over his shoulder in-between verbal sparring, had it been more than companionable? Had Peter made some erroneous assumptions about Johnny from seeing him at school that had clouded his judgment?

Had he gotten his own feelings confused because of how envious he was of Johnny’s attractiveness, Johnny’s complete comfort in his own skin? How _did_ Peter feel, exactly?

Peter was upset. That’s how he felt, hiding even deeper in his hoodie than usual while he rode the E train out to Queens. Not wanting to think about Johnny, he obsessed about his binder instead. He had more than one, so there was a fresh one at home, but he wasn’t rolling in cash. He couldn’t afford to replace the ripped one, and he didn’t want to bother Aunt May about it. She’d want to know what happened, and he couldn’t tell her that he was strong enough to rip the thing in half with his bare hands.

He got off the train, and as soon as he regained signal on his phone he texted Mary Jane about what had happened. She insisted on coming over, not just to talk about it, but because she was worried about his head injury.

At his desk, Peter sat holding an ice bag to his head with one hand, poking at some leftover spaghetti and meatballs with the other. The fork clinked against the plate in an absentminded rhythm.

Mary Jane sat on the floor next to him. She’d eaten her food already and was watching him like a hawk. She had vowed to annoy him all night so that he wouldn’t fall asleep after getting his skull cracked that hard.

“So he kissed you,” she said.

“Yes.”

“After he gave you mouth to mouth.”

Peter coughed. “Yes.” The memory of Johnny’s lips on his flooded his mind, making him squirm in his seat.

MJ frowned. “After you _almost drowned_.”

“But I didn’t,” Peter said. “I told you, I would’ve been fine! Um, probably.”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t know you were Spider-Man.” MJ rubbed a hand down her face.

That was an old argument Peter didn’t want to revisit. “If I told you I hurt my face running into a wall, you wouldn’t believe me.”

MJ waved her hand at him. “Whatever. It’s, whatever. I just hate hearing about all the times you’ve almost died. Even if swinging around with you is fun and it’s cool that you save people.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Peter avoided looking her in the eye by stuffing his mouth full of food.

“ _Whatever_ ,” MJ said. “Tell me about this kiss! Are you sure it was a real kiss?”

Peter gave her a look that spoke volumes about what he thought of that question. Of course it had been a real kiss. After he swallowed, he said, “It was after I was obviously breathing again, so yes. And he was embarrassed about it, so it was deliberate.”

“Did you kiss him back?”

“Did I—what do you think?!”

MJ frowned at him, spreading her hands. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking!”

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again, shaking his head. He turned back to his food, then pushed the plate away, shoving it into the mess on his desk. He wasn’t hungry.

“Was that a no, or a rejection of my question completely?”

“Both,” Peter said.

Mary Jane rolled her eyes. “Fine. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, but I am going to cancel tomorrow. I can’t go to the library and look him in the eye after that,” he said. “Especially not with this bruise on my face. I don’t want him asking questions.”

“But you’re going to see him on Monday at school anyway. He’s _gonna_ ask. He’s the kinda guy who cares about that kinda thing.”

“I’ll blow him off.”

“Yeah, like you’re always trying to blow me off?”

“I don’t blow you off.”

Mary Jane snorted and leaned back on her palms, sucking her teeth at him. “You keep telling yourself that, tiger.”

“Maybe I will,” Peter said. The retort was ruined by his voice squeaking again.

Mary Jane coughed into her fist, but he knew she was trying not to laugh at him.

“That’s not funny!”

“No, no, it’s not funny,” MJ said. “It’s just that it happens mostly when you’re being really surly and indignant.”

“Oh my god. I hate you.”

Mary Jane got to her feet, laughing. “No, you love me. That’s why you call me whenever you’re having boy trouble.”

Peter leaned towards her, drawing out the syllable as he said, “ _Haaaate_.”

She patted him on the cheek. “I know, sweetie. Do you want me to run interference with your aunt and go downstairs to get you some ice cream?”

Grumbling and pulling his face away from her, Peter said, “Yes. Please.”

Since MJ shared a calculus class with Peter, and they had the same work packet due that coming Wednesday, it was decided that she’d hang around on Sunday, too. They could work on it together.

Before breakfast, Peter sent Johnny a text to cancel their Sunday meeting at the library, claiming illness. He was so sick he couldn’t get out of bed. He was coughing up his lungs. They were all lumpy and pink. 

Johnny wondered how Peter knew what his lungs looked like. Did he have an x-ray machine at home?

Because he wasn’t a smoker, duh. Johnny had seen those photos of smokers’ lungs, hadn’t he? Did Johnny’s lungs look like that, since he was on fire all the time?

Yes, he was just joking. No, he wasn’t joking about being sick. He was so sick, his aunt was calling in the Center for Disease Control. Johnny could have his favorite pencil after he died. No, that was a joke. Why the hell would his aunt call the CDC for the flu?

Yes, if Peter did actually die, Johnny could have his legit favorite pencil.

When he put his phone away, Mary Jane was smirking at him over her cereal.

“What?” Peter knew that look on her face, and he didn’t like it.

“You’re grinning a lot. You sure you didn’t kiss him back?”

Peter pressed his lips together and refused to meet her eyes. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and splashed some milk into it. “I didn’t.”

“Peter, you’re blushing.”

“I am _not_. It’s just the bruise.”

Mary Jane shrugged and took a drink of orange juice. “All right, it’s the bruise.” She leaned forward and gestured for him to turn his injured cheek to her. “I can run home and get some concealer for you to cover that up. How long is that gonna take to heal?”

Peter shrugged. “Healing isn’t the problem, it’s the blood under the skin. It doesn’t have anywhere to go, and the red blood cells have to break down.” He pressed his fingers to his cheekbone and gave it a gentle rub. It was still tender, but the swelling in his face was gone at least.

The concealer would help, and he appreciated her offer. As long as nobody looked at him too closely, he’d be fine. He hoped. The last time someone had noticed “Dorothy” with a big bruise on “her” face, he’d been sent to the nurse’s office and had been subjected to a series of awkward questions. A well meaning individual had gotten the idea into their head that Peter was being abused, and he didn’t want to repeat the incident.

Aunt May got home from the night shift while Mary Jane was out to get her things, and Peter did his best to hide his face without looking suspicious while he did it. It helped that his aunt arrived with armloads of groceries. An overstuffed paper bag was great cover, and Peter didn’t give her much chance to look at him while he dashed in and out to help her with her purchases.

Not long after the groceries were all in the house, the doorbell rang.

“Could you get the door?” Aunt May called to him from the kitchen. “I’m rolling hamburger meat and my hands are filthy!”

“Sure, Aunt May!” Peter said, stomping back to the door. “It’s probably MJ coming back. We’re gonna work on some calc stuff.”

Throwing the door open, Peter was shocked to see not Mary Jane, but Johnny Storm standing there on the front stoop.

Johnny took a half step back, and Peter could read his confusion as plain as words written across his forehead. He was dressed in his usual casual-expensive clothes, but he was carrying a sealed tupperware container in his hands. Behind him, only Aunt May’s car was in the driveway, so he must have flown. Peter hadn’t given Johnny his home address, had he? Although, it wouldn’t have been hard for Johnny to find it.

“Dot?”

Peter was frozen in panic, caught in a lie—he wasn’t sick at all—and caught in the look on Johnny’s face. Johnny’s gaze was flicking between Peter’s eyes and the bruise on his cheek.

“Hey, Peter? Why don’t you go ahead and invite Mary Jane for dinner?”

Johnny blinked. “‘Peter’?”

Peter swallowed. “Um.”

“I, uh. I thought—you said you were sick, so I. I brought you soup,” Johnny said. “Here.” He shoved the tupperware into Peter’s hands and turned away.

“Johnny, wait a sec!”

Peter dashed down the front step after him, but Johnny flamed on and shot into the air, leaving a trail of flame behind him. Peter watched him disappear towards Manhattan.

This was a big problem.

“This is a big problem,” Peter said to MJ at lunch, three days later.

“Pete, it’s fine,” Mary Jane said. “Do you really think he’s going to out you?”

Peter ran his fingers through his hair, tugging and yanking at it. Maybe he’d go ahead and chop the rest of it off. Its length and the reminder that it was part of his daily disguise were bugging the hell out of him right then.

“ _No_ , but! He’s been out of school, and he saw my _face_ , MJ! He saw the bruise on my face! And he saw that I wasn’t sick!” He held up three fingers and shook them at her. “Three things! He knows I lied about being sick, and he knows _both_ my secret identities!”

Mary Jane reached out to put a hand on his arm. “Hey, please, please try to calm down. Stop jumping to conclusions. It’s not very scientific of you.”

“Science has nothing to do with this!”

Mary Jane sighed. “Look, I know him too, ok? And I know he wouldn’t withdraw from school over this. There’s gotta be another reason he’s not here. And he wouldn’t have a problem with, you know, the boy thing.”

“Uggghhhh.” Peter exhaled, dropping his face into his hands. “I hate _everything_.”

“C’mon, you love _me_ at least,” Mary Jane said. “You want the rest of my fries?”

“Yes,” Peter grumbled against his fingers.

“Then chill and try to worry about this later, and I’ll give you my fries.”

Peter glared at her, but agreed. Because french fries.

By the end of the week, Peter had had enough. Johnny had returned to school, having been stuck in the Microverse with the rest of the Fantastic Four most of the week. Despite being back, he was definitely avoiding Peter. Peter didn’t have the nerve to text him and ask him what was up, either, so his anxiety kept building until he was about ready to burst.

Friday after school, Peter suited up and made his way into Manhattan with singular purpose. He’d been to the Baxter Building often enough that he knew his way around their security measures, and he even knew where Johnny’s bedroom was.

Scaling the outer wall, Peter climbed to Johnny’s window and peered in. There was Johnny, sitting on the end of his bed with a controller in his hands. Peter wondered what game he was playing for half a second before he steeled himself and pounded on the window.

“Torch! Torch, hey Torch!”

Johnny jerked, startled, and turned to the window with wide eyes. He said something, but Peter couldn’t hear it. It looked like he said _Spidey_ , if Peter’s ability to read lips was even remotely accurate.

“Let me in, Flamebrain!” Peter slapped the glass again.

Johnny stood and approached the window. He flicked the lock and shoved it open. “Spidey? What’s wrong?”

“We have to _talk_ ,” Peter said, climbing into the room. He hung from the ceiling above Johnny’s head. “And I honestly have no idea where to start.”

“Uh. Why don’t we start by you coming down from there?”

Peter dropped to the floor right next to Johnny and folded his arms, glaring up at him. “There, is that better?”

Johnny blinked at him. “Not really.”

Peter grumbled and started pacing back and forth.

“Is it Stilt Man? Mole Man? Sandman?” Johnny frowned at him.

Peter had come there thinking that he was going to solve the problem he was having, but he was finding it much more difficult than he imagined. He wasn’t sure what he had hoped to accomplish by confronting Johnny while he was dressed as Spider-Man, but he was starting to realize that he had halfway planned to unmask himself.

“No,” Peter said. He huffed. “You _kissed_ me.” That was as good a way to start with as anything.

“Are you still upset about that?” Johnny held up his hands. “Look, Spidey, I already apologized.”

“You never answered why!”

“You almost drowned! I was worried!”

“Worried is a _hug_ , Torch.” Peter poked him in the chest. “Worried isn’t a kiss on the mouth.”

Johnny took a step back and rubbed his chest. “Geeze, what the hell do you want me to say, Spidey? That I saw your blue lips, and the huge bruise on your face and panicked? That I was worried I’d never hear you call me a dim bulb again? You want me to say that I was scared for you? That I was terrified I’d missed my chance to tell you how I felt?”

Heat rolled off of Johnny’s shoulders, and his eyes flashed in his agitation. It was Peter’s turn to back away, overwhelmed by the onslaught of Johnny’s confessions. “Johnny, I…”

“No, Spidey! _What do you want me to say?_ ”

Before he could change his mind, Peter hooked his thumbs under the edge of his mask and started to lift.

The heat surrounding Johnny dissipated immediately, and he reached out a hand. “Hey, no, Spidey, don’t—”

Peter yanked his mask off the rest of the way. Johnny didn’t look shocked to see his schoolmate underneath, didn’t exclaim surprise that “Dot” Parker was running around as a Spider-Man instead of Spider-Woman, didn’t denounce him.

Instead, Johnny sighed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Peter blinked. “You knew.” He had suspected as much, but to have it confirmed still threw him off.

Johnny shrugged and turned away from him. “I’ve… just sort of figured it out over the past couple weeks.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Do you have a problem with me?!” Peter could both feel and hear his voice cracking, which made him angrier.

“No!” Johnny said, grabbing Peter by the shoulders but letting go immediately. “No, I _don’t_ have a problem.” His brow furrowed. “I was just upset, okay? You lied to me about being sick, and you were having Mary Jane over for dinner, and I felt like an idiot.”

“I lied because I didn’t want you seeing my face!”

“It wasn’t _just_ that, okay?” Johnny walked away from him. “If I’d known you were… well, _you_ , I wouldn’t have kissed you. I _like_ MJ. I don’t want to get between you.”

“Wait. Wait a second.” Peter gestured ineffectually at him. “ _That’s_ your problem? I’ve told you before, I’m _not_ dating MJ!”

“Huh? But you two are like, attached at the hip!”

“We’re _not_ dating,” Peter said. “We’ve been neighbors since we were five. She’s my oldest friend, of course we’re close! Doesn’t mean we’re _dating_.”

“Sorry! I just… thought you were in the closet about that, too.”

Peter groaned and sank down onto Johnny’s bed, putting his face in his hands. “This is a disaster. I shouldn’t have come here.”

Johnny stood nearby, but didn’t sit to join him. “I’m sorry, Dot. I didn’t… I didn’t want to make a mess of anything. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”

Peter shuddered, hearing Johnny call him that. “Peter. My name is Peter.”

“Oh yeah,” Johnny said. “Sorry. That’s… sorry. Peter. That’s why MJ calls you ‘P’ at school, isn’t it? It’s not ‘P’ for Parker, it’s ‘P’ for Peter.” He went silent for a moment. “Can I sit down? It _is_ my bed.”

“Sure.”

The mattress shifted with Johnny’s weight, and he sat with his hands between his knees, not saying anything.

“How’d you guess?” Peter asked, finally. “Was it the bruise? My aunt calling me Peter?”

“Actually, um.” Johnny fidgeted. “You kinda disguise your voice when you’re Spider-Man, but, er… you don’t disguise it very well when you’ve almost drowned. Or when your voice cracks.”

Peter groaned, feeling his face go hot.

“And the bruise, too, yeah. That was kinda the final clue.”

Peter bent over and groaned louder, hiding his face between his knees.

“Say, um, Peter?”

“What,” Peter said to the floor, biting off the word.

“If you’re not dating MJ, are you dating someone else?”

Peter’s heart hammered in his ears, and he took several moments to respond. “Um, no.”

“Can I kiss you again? For real this time?”

Peter sat up and narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re into guys, right? Because I’m a _guy_. I’m gonna transition after graduation. It’ll be the last time anyone sees ‘Dorothy’ ever again.”

Johnny threw up his hands. “I’m into anybody, Spidey. I don’t care.”

“Call me Peter again.”

Johnny’s smile was so wide and bright, it could make even the Mole Man see the light. “Peter. Peter Parker.”

Peter felt a thrill in his chest, and leaned up to kiss him. At the last second, he shoved his hand in Johnny’s face, and laughed. “Maybe later.”


	2. Day 2: Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to regain the upper hand he feels he lost after Johnny saved him from drowning. Even though they actually want the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, I don't have time to edit this. T_T

Spider-Man and the Human Torch had never before specifically gone out to patrol together. Patrolling was traditionally Spider-Man’s thing. The Fantastic Four had _missions_. They had epic stuff happen. When it wasn’t one of their usual big time enemies attacking, Reed studied advanced sciences, and Sue led the team when his experiments got them into trouble.

That was pretty much a thing that everyone, including Reed, acknowledged.

It was different, zipping around Manhattan with Johnny as an entire activity instead of running into him by chance. Peter led the way, criss-crossing Midtown and heading downtown from there on his usual route. They raced from the Empire State Building to the Flatiron, Peter taunting Johnny the whole way. Johnny taunted him right back, flying circles around him to emphasize how much faster he could go if he wanted to.

A block before they reached the Flatiron, Peter’s spidey sense went off. “Torch! Hold up!” Executing a flip and a twist in midair, he shot off down the side street where he heard a scream. Some asshole was trying to lift a lady’s purse.

Peter stuck himself to a nearby wall. “Hey, jerkoff, this ain’t Freebie Friday at the grocery store. Pretty sure this nice lady wants to keep her purse.”

“Back off! I’ll cut her throat!”

A knife flashed, quick as a wink, but Peter was quicker. He squeezed off a gob of webbing and cocooned the mugger’s hand along with the knife, rendering it as dangerous as a Q-tip. The mugger shoved his victim away, hard, turning and dashing off down the street with her wallet clutched in his hand.

The woman staggered, unable to keep her balance. Peter leapt to her assistance, catching her before she crashed into the pavement and hurt herself.

“Torch!”

“Got ‘im!” Johnny said, descending to street level and surrounding the thief with hot flames.

“Why don’t you go harass Doctor Doom, ya airhead?” the mugger shouted up at Johnny. “I ain’t hurt the lady!”

Peter hopped up onto a nearby lamppost and landed on swift feet behind him. With a quick knock on the back of the head, the mugger was down on the ground. Peter webbed him up and stuck him to the nearest wall.

He brushed his hands together. “Well! That takes care of that. Torch, the flames?”

Johnny landed on the sidewalk, and let the fire drop, leaving nothing but a little scorching on the concrete. “Nice job,” he said. “By the way, you lose.”

Peter pointed at the mugger. “What are you talking about? I’ve got the sleaze right here!”

Johnny shook his head and smirked, folding his arms. “The _race_ , Webhead.”

“Oh, so while I was here, saving this woman’s life,” Peter turned around, but she was nowhere to be seen. Neither was her wallet, which the thief had dropped and she must have grabbed before she fled. “All right, she was here a minute ago. But while I was saving her _life_ , and her purse, you were cheating?”

“I don’t cheat!”

“Yeah, sure you don’t. Prove it!”

“Oh my god.”

“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater!” Peter taunted, doing cartwheels in a circle around Johnny.

“I don’t have to take this slander!” Johnny flashed flames onto the ground in Peter’s path, and he yelped and jerked out of the way. “Besides, that’s not how the rhyme goes. It’s not ‘Johnny pumpkin eater’.” It was “Peter” pumpkin eater, but he didn’t say that because they both knew it.

Peter scooped up the mugger and slung him over his shoulder. “I could see you as the wife that gets locked up in a giant squash, though.” He snickered. “But, speaking of fairy tales, I gotta get Sleeping Beauty here to the police. I think we’re in the thirteenth precinct?”

Johnny shrugged, lighting himself again and hopping into the air. “Heck if I know. Street level crime is your thing, Spidey.”

“Fine.” Peter scowled up at him. “But how about this. I want a rematch, and we’re gonna do it on _my_ terms.”

“Racing to the Flatiron was your idea. It was already on your terms!”

“You cheated!”

“Are you kidding? I could’ve gotten there before you’d even gone three blocks. You do know how fast I can fly, right?”

Peter climbed the building until he had enough elevation to start from, and shot a webline towards the police station. He _did_ know how fast Johnny could fly, more or less, but he didn’t want to feel like Johnny was babying him. “Letting me win is against the rules.”

“Racing was your idea,” Johnny repeated. “You’re saying I’m cheating if I win, and also cheating if I let you win?”

“I’m taking away your advantage,” Peter said, ignoring Johnny’s comment. At the apex of a swing he let himself free fall for a moment before he attached to the next building. “We’re gonna play Call of Duty and I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Johnny floated up next to him, keeping pace with his swinging. “Whoa, hey. Isn’t that a bit violent? You wanted to race, so let’s play Mario Kart.”

“Smash Brothers,” Peter countered.

“No. _Mario Kart_ ,” Johnny said. “I know how fast your reflexes are. If we’re leveling the playing field, I’m not letting you button mash the hell out of me.”

Peter rolled his eyes and shifted the mugger’s weight on his shoulder. “Fine! Mario Kart! I call Luigi.”

“Good. I want Rosalina.”

Peter laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

It was getting late in the evening when Peter and Johnny got back to the Baxter Building. Johnny went inside through the rooftop entrance, and Peter entered through Johnny’s bedroom window.

While Johnny was getting his TV and console ready, Peter made himself comfortable on the ceiling. He paced back and forth, sticking out a toe to nudge the ceiling fan. It started to spin around, and Johnny glanced up at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you gonna… stay up there?”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t want you accusing me of using my enhanced dexterity to your disadvantage,” Peter said. “I figured I’d give myself a handicap.” Not that it would handicap him at all. He was used to seeing the world upside-down, sideways, every which way there was.

“Okay but do you know how creepy you are? Having you hanging over my head like that is going to make me feel all weird, which will be to your advantage,” Johnny said.

“Aw, Johnny Storm can’t handle a little pressure?” Peter laughed.

The bickering and the taunting were easy. It’s what they were used to. With the mask on, it made Peter feel less like the trans kid who’d just come out to the guy who had kissed him. Johnny’s request for another kiss and Peter’s _maybe later_ still hung between them, and it was easier to fall back on familiar patterns than to deal with that.

Truth was, Peter wanted to kiss him again. It bothered him that he did, because he didn’t like those squishy vulnerable feelings stirring in his chest. He associated those feelings with femininity. Logically, he knew that was society’s expectations kicking him in the ass again, but he couldn’t help how much he wanted to reject all that.

It didn’t help things that Johnny had kissed him right after saving him from drowning. (Though he would never admit to Johnny’s face that Johnny had definitely saved him.) Johnny hadn’t known he was trans at the time, hadn’t seen his face or known his name either, but Peter still felt like he’d shafted into the _damsel in distress_ trope. The thought made his skin itch.

So then why hadn’t he just gone home? Maybe it was because he wanted to win. He wanted to beat Johnny at something, and he wanted to win against his own stupid wibbly wobbly feelings.

“I can handle pressure fine,” Johnny said. “So go ahead and stay up on the ceiling with your creepy bug eyes staring down at me, if that’s what you want.”

“Creepy?” Peter affected an offended tone. “But my eyes are all big and friendly. That’s why I’m the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Johnny snorted and handed him a controller. “You’re the one who decided to call yourself that. Pretty sure there wasn’t a poll around the neighborhood. I certainly wasn’t consulted.”

“What the hell is this?” Peter snatched the controller out of Johnny’s hand. “I can’t use the Wii remote upside down.” He waved his fingers at the box of controllers under Johnny’s TV. “Gimme the other one. No that one! Yeah that’s it.”

Flopping down on his bed, Johnny rolled his eyes. “Okay, Spidey, what’s the bet here? There’s gotta be some stakes in this game. What do I get when I win?”

“When you win, Storm? _When_ you win? Awfully confident, aren’t you?” Peter activated the controller and went to pick his character and decide how to put his vehicle together.

“Loser buys the winner a pizza,” Johnny said.

Peter shook his head. “Nuh uh. I don’t have the money for a pizza.”

“Loser has to go into the middle of Time Square with a bag on his head and cluck like a chicken.”

“Dude, no. No more Bombastic Bag-Man jokes, I swear to god.” Peter had his character set to go, and scrolled through the tracks.

“Okay, then… how about this.” Johnny stood up and leaned closer to him. “Loser has to kiss the winner.”

Peter’s heart jumped up into his throat. Well, down. Since he was upside down. His heart would be—well, except it wasn’t actually going anywhere. He glared at Johnny, but with his mask on it had no effect, so he yanked it off and stuffed it into his waistband. That way he could glare at Johnny properly. “That’s not fair either. It’s the same then no matter who wins.”

Johnny sighed. “Okay, tough guy, fine. If you win, I’ll buy you a pizza. And if I win, you have to give me that kiss I asked for.”

“What if I refuse?” Peter said.

“Then I’ll think of something else.”

Peter thought about it for a minute, and then stuck out his hand to shake Johnny’s. It was awkward upside-down. “Deal. Best two out of three?”

“Deal.” Johnny shook his hand firmly.

In the first round, Peter won, although it was close going in the last race. Fast fingers or not, he didn’t have this game at home, and Johnny had more practice with it. He started making noise about where he wanted pizza from.

This, of course, started an argument about pizza toppings. Peter liked his pizza with extra cheese. Johnny, considering himself a more worldly type, wanted to pressure him about other kinds of toppings. Including pineapple and anchovies. He was just trying to get Peter worked up, and they started arguing so hard that Peter lost all composure in the Star Cup and lost.

The final round was intense. Peter abandoned the ceiling and instead sat on the end of the bed with Johnny, with about two feet between them. He was laser focused on the game, not concerned at all with their proximity, and not even concerned with the stakes of the game either.

They both swore at each other, swore at the game mechanics, the characters, and they both twisted their arms around as if that would help them drift around the corners in the game. At least it was undeniable that Johnny was trying his best to win.

Finally, though he did it by the skin of his teeth, Peter shot past the finish line in first place. He jumped to his feet, throwing his arms in the air and crowing his victory. “Yes! Suck it, Storm!”

“Aw, come on!” Johnny gestured at the TV. “I totally would’ve beaten you if it weren’t for stupid Bowser’s castle!”

“You lose!” Peter said.

Johnny waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll buy you your damn pizza.” He stood, crossing the room to retrieve his cell phone from where he’d plugged it in to charge.

“Mmm, pizza.” Peter sat back down again. He watched Johnny while he called Peter’s favorite pizza place and placed an order for a large, extra cheese pizza. Johnny hadn’t cheated at all, which Peter appreciated. So maybe since Peter had won, and he had all the bragging rights _and_ he’d have pizza, he could give Johnny what he wanted, too.

Especially since Peter wanted the same thing. As the winner, he deserved to get what he wanted.

Johnny got off the phone, and stuffed it into his pocket. He turned to Peter. “They don’t deliver, I gotta go pick it up.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “You wanna borrow civvies and go walk with me to get it? Or you wanna go pick it up in costume?”

“In costume,” Peter said, picking up his mask and rubbing it with his thumbs. “Can’t sneak out the window in your fancy clothes.”

“Okay.”

“First, though.” Peter closed the distance between them, and took hold of Johnny’s shirt. He curled his fingers into the fabric, and leaned up to kiss him.

This was a proper kiss, Peter molding his lips to Johnny’s and letting out a soft breath. Johnny lifted his hands to Peter’s shoulders, but Peter stepped out of his reach and tugged his mask back on.

Johnny resembled a drowning fish for a moment. “But I lost.”

Peter shrugged, and started crawling out the window. “Winner takes it all, Torch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is hilarious to me because I am usually annoyed when I see fics using the Mario Kart trope... and here I am using it myself. *facepalm*
> 
> TBH I'm not really digging this fic at all, but I hope you readers enjoyed it.


	3. Day 3: Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A haircuts, trying on clothes, and doing the dishes. All wrapped up around a special occasion.

It was his 18th birthday.

Peter turned his head one way, then the other, examining his appearance in the mirror he held. All his hair, previously down to his shoulders when it was loose, was now chopped off. He was left with a stylishly messy mop of it on the top of his head, cropped close in back and tapering down his neck. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his head, feeling a delighted shiver as his fingers tickled through the short strands.

The grin on his face was so big, his cheeks were starting to hurt, but he couldn’t stop.

“What’s the verdict?” the barber asked, smiling at him.

Peter swallowed, and handed him the mirror. He regarded his reflection in the large mirror again instead, slipping his glasses back on.

“It’s perfect,” he said.

On the way home, Peter couldn’t keep his hands off his head. No more braids, no more ponytails. No more hair tickling his neck. Best of all… no more “Dorothy”.

At home, Aunt May and Mary Jane were waiting for him. From their behavior when he’d left a couple hours before, and turned down his invite to go with, he guessed that they were doing something special for him. Like a surprise party. Surprise parties normally weren’t something he was into. Something about the whole idea of a surprise party felt like it was aimed at embarrassing the victim.

Whether other people agreed with him on that point was immaterial. After he’d gotten upset and stormed out of his 10th birthday surprise party, making his uncle Ben chase off after him down the street, nobody had tried to throw him one again. He fervently hoped they weren’t doing that now.

Arriving back home, he was relieved to see that there weren’t any extra cars parked in the driveway or down the street. When he entered, his spider sense didn’t tingle, and nobody jumped out at him. Instead, he was met by several flashes from his aunt’s digital camera, a banner strung across the foyer that said _Welcome Home Peter!_ , and Mary Jane holding one of his aunt’s special homemade summer cakes.

“Oh my god you guys,” Peter said, holding up his hands against the flashes in his face.

“Looking good, Pete!”

That was Johnny’s voice. Peter turned to see him standing there by the door. The light in his eyes had distracted him, and he had not noticed him there. Well, that was another surprise. He turned to glare at Mary Jane in accusation. She merely shrugged and looked pleased with herself.

“You look _amazing_ , Peter,” Aunt May said, setting the camera aside so she could envelop him in a warm hug. He hugged her back, holding tight and pressing his cheek against hers. How lucky was he to have her?

“Don’t you think the banner is overdoing it?” Peter said when they broke apart. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

Aunt May shook her head. “Indulge me a little, would you?”

Peter inhaled and dropped his shoulders as he let out his breath again. “Okay, okay, fine.” It was Mary Jane’s turn for a hug, and she squeezed him so tight she lifted him off the floor. He accused her of being a show off.

“But did you have to invite _him_?” Peter pointed his thumb at Johnny when Mary Jane released him. “I’m too old to have a clown at my parties.”

“Hey! I’m your boyfriend! Besides, I’m not a clown, I’m a celebrity.”

Peter crossed his arms. “Could've fooled me. If I wanted a celebrity appearance at my birthday I’d prefer, like, a scientist? Tony Stark, or maybe Reed Richards.”

Johnny’s jaw dropped, and he looked about to get upset, so Peter relented and gave him the hug he clearly wanted. Johnny was very warm, just this side of hot, and he placed a quick kiss on Peter’s temple before he let him go.

They all moved their activities into the living room, where Peter cut the cake and everyone had a slice served on paper plates. Blue paper plates with a bold black **_4_** stamped in the middle.

“I found them leftover from your birthday two years ago,” Mary Jane said, chipper and innocent as anything.

Peter made neck strangling motions at her while Johnny laughed at him.

When they were done with the cake, his aunt presented him with a few new wardrobe items. These were especially masculine, not just the androgynous stuff he was used to wearing. They forced him to model the clothes for them, but he didn’t mind that because he had to admit that he looked awesome. Very classic sort of Indiana Jones sexy. The effect intensified when he tamed his hair a little, which made him feel giddy.

The defining moment came when Aunt May pulled out a flat wrapped package for him. He tore into the paper, and saw the back of a photo frame. Raising an eyebrow, he flipped it over, and was faced with a copy of his high school diploma. Why had she—?

Oh.

There in fancy calligraphy was his name. His _real_ name.

_This is to certify that **Peter Benjamin Parker** has completed the educational requirements…_

It wasn’t until after graduation that he’d gotten his name change official. They hadn’t been able to get all the paperwork done in time so that he could attend graduation with the name Peter. His diploma had still said “Dorothy” on it. He’d stuffed it into his closet to probably never look at again.

Aunt May had had other ideas, and she hadn’t even told him. She’d gotten him a new copy with his name on it, and she’d gotten it framed and everything. He was going to cry. He _did_ cry: big, fat, embarrassing tears running down his face.

“You’re… I’m…” Peter couldn’t find the words.

“I know how much it means to you. I had to do it,” Aunt May said.

“Thank you so much.”

After his aunt had to go to work, and Mary Jane had to leave for her summer job, Johnny and Peter were left to clean up the mess. Johnny had offered to wash up the dishes, and Peter would get everything else. They’d used paper plates for the cake, but there were still the utensils and the pans from baking it to take care of, in addition to whatever was leftover from breakfast and dinner the night before.

Peter took care of the trash. Crushing cans and pizza boxes was easy when you had super strength, and he didn’t have to use a chair to climb up and get the banner down.

“You’re not gonna leave it up?” Johnny asked from the kitchen.

“Nah, I don’t need it,” Peter said.

“Don’t throw it away, though.”

Peter had half of it down, and the rest was still dangling from the corner of the room. He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Johnny shrugged. “Well, y’know. Your aunt might want it.” He was buried to his elbows in soapy water, scrubbing the residue out of a cake pan.

Peter crossed over and unpinned the other end of the banner. He rolled it up and set it on Aunt May’s antique sideboard. “We took enough photos today, I don’t need the banner. But I know she wants to keep it.”

Stepping behind Johnny, he put his arms around him, burying his face in the back of Johnny’s neck. Johnny’s rich smell filled his nose, and he breathed it in deep, wishing he could wrap up in it like a blanket. Whether it was in his head, or there was something to it, Peter always thought he could smell Johnny’s fire.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, smoothing his hands over Johnny’s soft shirt, feeling the muscles of his abdomen underneath. “It means a lot to me.”

Johnny felt warmer for a moment, but maybe that was just Peter.

“It’s your rebirth day. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” Johnny asked. “Hey, watch this.”

“Hmm?” Peter tilted his head to see what he was talking about. He squeezed Johnny tighter, just for good measure, wanting to be closer.

From the water, Johnny pulled the cake pan. With his mouth, he made whooshing noises as he wiggled the fingers of his free hand at it. Peter could feel the heat Johnny was producing in his hands, and watched as steam billowed up and evaporated.

With a clank, Johnny set the pan down on the counter. It didn’t drip at all. It was completely dry. “Ta-da!” he said.

“Wow, you’re magic, Torch,” Peter said. “If we ever move in together, I’m making you do all the dishes forever.”

“Whoa whoa, move in together?” Johnny said, something in his voice cranking his pitch a bit higher than normal.

“I’m just kidding!” Peter laughed. Although… he wasn’t—not entirely. They were young, and there was college to get through, but. Y’know. Eventually he’d like to live with somebody. Somebody he was dating. And he was dating Johnny right then. Wanted to _keep_ dating Johnny. So where did that lead?

Feeling mischievous, and wanting to diffuse the sudden serious feeling, Peter bit down into Johnny’s neck. Not a little love nip; he gave him a good solid bite, then dashed away when Johnny swatted at him.

“Ow! What are you, Mosquito Man now?”

“Spiders bite too,” Peter said, grinning.

“Whatever. You wanna put these away as I’m drying them?”

“Sure.”

Peter picked up the pan and tucked it away in the cabinet where it belonged. When he straightened and went back for the next dish, Johnny was smiling at him.

“What? I got something on my face?”

Johnny shook his head, leaning against the sink. He was still smiling, and Peter’s breath froze in his lungs. It wasn’t fair how Johnny could be so masculine and beautiful at the same time.

“You…” Johnny rubbed the back of his hand under his chin. “Your hair looks really good,” he said.

“Why thank you,” Peter said, making a dramatic pose.

Johnny shook his head again. “No, I mean it. You look so handsome.”

A flush crawled over Peter’s cheeks. It was meant as a compliment, but it was touching a bit too close to some of his insecurities. “I wasn’t handsome before?”

Johnny seemed to realize his misstep, and abandoned the sink to approach him. “Yeah, Pete. You were. But it’s… Now you look like you _feel_ it.”

Peter bit his lip. He didn’t want to get all gushy, but it was true. He was feeling it more now. It had been strong when he’d been trying on the new clothes, and now with the way Johnny was looking at him. After all that, and the haircut, he was feeling it more.

“I guess I do,” he said.

“Can I kiss you? I have got to kiss you, Peter. I’ve been dying to kiss you ever since you got home, but your aunt and MJ were here and—”

Peter didn’t let him finish, because he took the initiative and kissed Johnny instead. He wrapped his arms around Johnny’s neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and he felt Johnny’s fingers making their way through his new hair. They didn’t part for several minutes, taking advantage of being able to make out in the kitchen with nobody else around.

“How’s that?” Peter asked, kissing across Johnny’s cheek to nibble on his earlobe.

Johnny inhaled sharply through his nose and held to him tighter. “Nice. And it’s not even my birthday, it’s yours,” he said. “We should… probably finish washing up.”

“I don’t want to do the dishes,” Peter pouted.

Johnny laughed. “The faster we get them done, the sooner we can go watch a movie.” He rubbed his nose into Peter’s hair behind his ear. “And make out on the couch.”

“Ok.” Peter definitely liked the sound of that.


	4. Day 4: Through the Decades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Johnny travel back to the 1890's--with their clothes, anyway--to attend a play.
> 
> Alt theme: Costumes.

Crowds, noise, gimmicks, and conflicting smells assaulted Peter’s senses, making him wish he were at home instead.

“I can’t believe I’ve been talked into this.” Peter shifted his weight from one foot to another, wiggling his toes in his squeaky new shoes. “Whose bright idea was it to come to this thing in costume?”

“You know it was MJ’s idea,” Johnny said.

Peter stared around the large foyer of the Fine Arts building on campus. Mary Jane had given him the strong impression that “pretty much everyone” was going to be seeing the play in costume. He had been made to think that if he were to attend in his regular clothes, he would stand out. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Out of all the people milling about, waiting for the doors to the theater to open, or queueing up to buy their tickets, they were the only ones aside from the actors in the crowd who were in costume.

Pursing his lips, Peter glowered at Johnny. “You encouraged her!”

“Can you blame me for wanting to dress up? I look sexy as hell.” Johnny tugged on the hem of his black frock coat with dark red trim, and twirled his walking cane. A group of students passing them by stopped to smile and wave at him. He lifted the edge of his top hat and made a sweeping bow, nearly clocking Peter in the nose with the head of his cane.

Elbowing him in the ribs, Peter hissed, “Cut it out.” Even though Johnny was right; he looked sexy as hell.

“You’re just jealous of my ascot,” Johnny said. He adjusted said ascot around his neck, looking smug. The fabric it was made of had flames printed on it, which matched the deep orange yellow of the waistcoat.

“Your ascot isn’t even remotely period friendly,” Peter said. His eyes drifted over the decorations, consisting of sheets painted to look like 1890’s London streets draped around the room to enhance the atmosphere, a fog machine spewing out mist from somewhere in one corner, and the banner that said: _Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street_.

“And your bowler cap with steampunk goggles _is_?” Johnny laughed, flicking the rim of Peter’s hat with a finger.

Peter huffed and tugged his hat closer on his head, glaring at his boyfriend. He wasn’t wearing a fancy coat like Johnny was, but he had a nice red vest on that acted as his waistcoat, and a simple blue tie under it. His uncle’s old pocket watch was tucked into the breast pocket with a chain hanging out and attached to the buttons.

Yes, he’d added goggles to his hat, but it was the one concession he’d made to his personal sensibilities.

“Don’t be daft,” he said. “It’s a _derby hat_. Not a bowler cap. Get with the times, Storm.”

This just made Johnny laugh harder, and he hooked his arm through Peter’s. “Who says ‘daft’ anymore? Aren’t you getting a little too much in character?”

“Shut up.” Peter scowled. He jerked on Johnny’s arm and began stalking across the room towards a table laden with snacks and drinks. “Come on. They’re serving punch over there.”

Without protest, Johnny allowed Peter to lead him, holding onto his hat. “You think someone’s spiked it?”

Snorting, Peter took a place behind another student who was serving herself punch from the cooler. It was one of those with a spigot at the bottom. “What is this, high school? No one’s gonna spike the punch here. There are parents and staff around.” He rolled his eyes, then something in the crowd caught his attention. “Hey, is that Harry?”

Someone spiked the punch.

It wasn’t during the performance, no, but Mary Jane invited the two of them to the after party, and that’s where it happened. It had been a very successful opening night, and everyone was celebrating. Apparently celebrating a little too much.

“And another thing!” Peter slurred, holding a wiggling finger up in Harry’s face. The goggles were no longer on his hat, they were on his face. This did not help him focus when he had drunk more spiked punch than he should have. “If you, you know, if _Pluto_ has to be a planet because yes, then so do a bunch of other space bodies orbiting the sun.”

“Space bodies,” Harry said in a deadpan. “Like alien abductions?”

“Wha? No!” Peter’s brow furrowed, not understanding that Harry was teasing him. He shook his head. This put him off balance, and Johnny had to catch him before he teetered into the nearest table. “No, bodies of rock, planetlings. Moon things! Comets and shit, all those things.”

Harry covered his mouth with a fist and coughed, sharing a look with Johnny. He leaned against a doorframe. “Uh huh. But Pluto should be grandfathered in. It’s just _wrong_ that it’s not a planet.”

“That’s not how science works!” Peter said. He didn’t understand why Harry couldn’t understand such a simple thing. “Science is always changing! That’s why I like science, I am practically a science. Like when I was—”

Johnny slung his arm around Peter’s waist, which effectively stopped him from saying whatever he was about to say. “Oookay, we know you are _very_ passionate about science.” He yanked Peter’s hat off his head and put it in his hands. “Almost as passionate as you are about bowler caps.”

“Derby hat!” Peter said. He yanked the hat back down onto his head.

“See? Passionate.”

“Hrmph. Forget you guys, I’m gonna get more punch.” Wiggling out of Johnny’s grasp, Peter tottered towards the snack table.

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Mary Jane said, appearing out of nowhere. Or so it seemed to Peter. She was dressed all prim and proper, and was covered in fake blood stains leftover from the performance. It was a bit macabre, but half of the performers were dressed similarly.

“MJ!” Peter grinned and lurched for her, wrapping his arms around her neck. He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek and held tight until she squealed at him about her makeup and getting his clothes dirty.

“I’m sorry, someone left Flash alone with the punch, and… obviously…” She gestured at Peter.

“I’ma beat him assscot,” Peter said, pushing up his sleeves and glaring around the crowd. “Where his face?”

“Maybe we should head out of here,” Johnny said. “Pete obviously has a, um, _low_ alcohol tolerance.”

For his part, Peter stuck to complaining about the room moving around, and didn’t mention how all his enhanced senses were going crazy because of the booze. Outing himself in any way to Harry was not how he wanted to end the evening, and he’d already almost done that once.

On their way out to Johnny’s car, they stopped and Peter got a couple bottles of Gatorade out of the vending machine so that he could replenish his fluids and electrolytes.

“Don’t you have, like, really good metabolism? Shouldn’t that leave your system fast?” Johnny asked. He turned the engine over and glanced over at Peter, who was chugging from the first bottle. Rivulets of bright blue liquid dribbled from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto the goggles, which he’d hung around his neck so he could read the screen on the vending machine. “Geeze, slow down!”

Peter gasped and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, but it’s, it’s fucking with my spider-sense, which, um, I think is keyed into my other senses and my cognitive function, which, because I’m used to it I think it’s all, like,” He made gestures with his hands, trying to describe his meaning. Without any apparent success. “Never mind. I don’t fucking know, I haven’t studied this shit.”

When they got back to Peter’s house, he had sobered up a little. He had drunk both bottles and felt a lot better. His senses were more balanced, and he could appreciate being close to Johnny. Johnny, who was sitting there with his hands on the wheel, drumming his fingers against the leather wheel cover.

“You wanna come up for a while?” Peter asked. He pulled the goggles over his head and slipped them over the rim of the derby hat again.

Johnny shook his head. “I’d better not.”

“Mm, but you look good enough to eat,” Peter said, unbuckling his seat belt. He leaned over the center console and grabbed Johnny’s face for a kiss. Sadly, he missed, and got Johnny’s chin instead.

“Uh…” Johnny bit his lip and chuckled, though he also looked vaguely horrified. “As long as you’re not going to, like, chop me up and bake me into pies.”

“Ugh! Gross!” Peter spat as if he’d eaten something disgusting. “Oh, dammit Torch, now I’ve got the absolute _worst_ pictures in my head!” He threw himself back into the passenger seat, making gagging noises.

“Heh, sorry,” Johnny said.

“I just wanna get my hands on your ascot.” Peter grinned. Not delicately, he put his hand on Johnny’s knee and massaged up his thigh.

“ _Ohboy_ , wow, um,” Johnny licked his lips. “Any other time I’d be _thrilled_. Like seriously. But. We haven’t talked about, uh. Stuff.”

Peter sighed, and let out a breath. Johnny was right. As much as Peter was feeling warm in all the right ways, and their touching had been escalating _a lot_ lately, there were lines they hadn’t yet crossed. Furthermore, there was a conversation they needed to have before they crossed that line. “We haven’t,” he agreed. “Okay.”

Tenderly, Johnny put a hand on Peter’s cheek and rubbed his thumb over it. Peter delighted in the feeling of Johnny’s fingers scratching through the stubble on his face. He delighted in the feeling of stubble, period, but the fact that Johnny liked it…

Johnny’s lips were on his in a moment, for just a moment. “We can talk about it tomorrow if you want.” His voice was soft and kind.

“Yes,” Peter said. He twisted his fingers in Johnny’s coat and dragged him closer, licking against his mouth. “Gimme five minutes before you go.”

It was more like ten minutes—hot breath and rough kisses and gentle teeth—but they weren’t really counting.


	5. Day 5: Journeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is taking a journey of the self. Also he and Johnny discuss a literal journey.

The speaker on Peter’s desk pumped out soft 80’s music into the dim apartment. He lay curled against Johnny’s chest, fingers stroking in soft circles on his side through his shirt. Legs tangled, they snuggled together without speaking. Peter sighed, rubbing his face against the soft cotton of Johnny’s tank top, luxuriating in the feel of Johnny’s fingers massaging his scalp.

They liked to bicker a lot, but the quiet moments were good too. In the absence of speech, Peter could hear Johnny’s heart beating through his ribs. The soft _thupp thupp_ was a soothing rhythm, and he let out a long sigh. It was a decent enough distraction from thinking about the next day.

“Still nervous about tomorrow?” Johnny asked.

Damn him and his mind reading abilities.

“I thought your power was being a hothead, not telepathy?” Peter pressed his teeth against Johnny’s shoulder, biting softly and making him take in a breath. Peter followed it by a soft kiss in the same spot, licking and soothing the skin.

“Ouch. Come on,” Johnny said. “Don’t deflect. I know it’s a big deal.”

“Obviously,” Peter said. He rolled onto his back, feeling the weight of his breasts shifting with him. When he felt Johnny’s hand seeking out his he took it, squeezing back.

Tomorrow was his top surgery. He was excited, but also apprehensive. Never before had he been put under general anesthetic, not since before getting bitten by the irradiated spider. He didn’t know how it would affect him. He didn’t know how he would heal afterwards.

He didn’t know how he felt about Reed Richards and Hank McCoy seeing his _tits_. Such as they were.

It had been halfway through college when the rest of the F4 had found out that Peter was Spider-Man. He’d been all right with telling them before that, but he’d already told them he was trans, and hadn’t wanted to slam them with all that information all at once. In hindsight, he wished he _had_ done it all at once. But considering how awkwardly Harry had reacted when he’d found out Peter didn’t have a penis… He’d been a bit shy about making any more confessions.

Definitely wasn’t going to tell Harry he was Spider-Man. That was a huge can of worms with a capital G.

Peter had taken a long time to get around to talking to Reed about surgery. Due to the nature of his special blood, healing factor, and his secret identity as the hero that the Daily Bugle liked to pick on the most, Peter had thought that it would be out of question forever. That binders and doubled up sports bras were going to be something he’d have to deal with as long as he lived.

There was no way he’d trust his body to doctors at a regular clinic. Who knew what they might notice while he was completely helpless to do anything about it? Who knew if there might be someone hacked into the system who was on the lookout for unusual blood work coming out of hospital labs?

Sure, he’d developed a suppressant chemical, one that he’d taken back when he started T to hide the radiation in his blood when they were drawing it regularly, but that wasn’t going to last through the duration of chest surgery.

The ideal solution would be to take it outside of the regular medical field. It had initially been Johnny’s suggestion, as Peter had been far too anxious to bring up the subject. They’d fought about it. Peter didn’t like feeling weak, and as well-meaning as Johnny’s suggestion was, it had just reminded him of everything he needed help with.

Hank McCoy was not going to see his face, or be told that he was Spider-Man. Peter was going to wear a plain mask during the procedure—

—the whole thing was so ridiculous—

—and Hank had only been told that he was a mutate and was afraid of doctors getting their hands on him. Which was at least the truth. There would only be lies of omission, which Hank understood.

Tomorrow being a “big deal”, as Johnny had put it, was something of a gross understatement.

Johnny turned to lean over him, sheets rustling and mattress creaking. He propped himself up on his hands, bracketing Peter’s face. “Just remember: it’s gonna be only people you already know and trust, okay?”

“Mm.” Peter pursed his lips and turned to the side. Johnny reached out to scratch the stubble under Peter’s chin, and Peter swatted him away. “Stop that. I’m worried about… it’s not just that. Reed said I won’t be able to swing around for a few days. What if something happens while I’m healing?”

“You’re worried about your Spider-Man duties.”

“Yeah. What if I—I just can’t handle the thought of someone getting hurt. Someone that I could’ve saved. It’s my responsibility to help people.”

Johnny bent down, rubbing his lower lip against Peter’s. Peter snapped his teeth at him and he sighed. Rolling away, onto his back again, he tucked a hand behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “Pete. It’ll be fine. It’s just a few days. The city will carry on without you.”

“I guess so.”

“You’ve wanted this for years. Just think, we can go to the beach and you can finally get some sun on that pasty skin of yours.”

“Hey!” Peter punched him in the arm.

“Ow!”

“You asked for it.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “You are such a brute, Peter Parker.”

Peter sat upright and climbed to straddle Johnny’s waist, pinning him down with firm hands on his shoulders. “All right, _you_. You talk about beaches. _Which_ beach?”

Johnny grinned. “Anywhere you want, handsome. Miami, Florida, Hawaii…”

“We could just go to Long Island.”

Pressing hot hands to Peter’s waist, Johnny squeezed gently, a smile playing across his lips. “I’m not picky. As long as it’s with you.”

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” Peter asked.

“Of course I will.”

Leaning over, Peter shut off his speaker. The music faded to silence, which was soon filled soft sighs and wet kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, I find it really interesting to think about how Peter's healing factor would work in certain situations. And while I was going to just ignore certain medical plot holes for ease of writing, I found I couldn't do that.
> 
> As much as I'd like to write their beach shenanigans, I ain't got the time. Y'all can use your imaginations. :)


	6. Day 6: Winter Liason (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's near Christmas time. Peter and Johnny are out and about in the city. They meet up with Gwen and MJ briefly and go home to keep warm in their own way.
> 
> Blending the "Risky Liasons" them with "Summer/Winter" alternate theme. It's not really very risky but they do sort of get caught a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, sex scene!
> 
> General tags: Winter, fluff, cuddling
> 
> Tags for sexual content: fellatio, anal play, anal penetration, sex toy, vaginal penetration, safe sex
> 
> \--

Winter lights twinkled in the air as Johnny and Peter meandered their way south on Fifth Avenue, away from the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. There had been so many people, and away from the center of activity the crowds thinned out even if they didn’t disappear completely. Johnny’s arm was tucked through Peter’s, and Peter appreciated the extra heat he gave off.

Peter was glad that they went out. Hordes of people weren’t his thing, and neither was managing interactions when Johnny’s celebrity status drew too much attention, but the sparkle in Johnny’s eyes and the smile plastered on his face were more than enough to make up for it.

Nine times out of ten if Johnny was happy, then Peter was too. That Johnny kept trying to steal his hot chocolate didn’t even bother him overmuch. That was typical behavior.

At least it hadn’t been the lighting ceremony. It didn’t stop tourist crowding, but it would have been much worse if it had been the day of. No, they’d been out earlier to catch Mary Jane’s latest performance. With no party afterwards, they’d met up instead at the Coffee Bean, which was where Peter had gotten the hot chocolate. In attendance were Peter, Johnny, Mary Jane, and MJ’s girlfriend Gwen Stacy.

Being the talented woman that she was, Mary Jane had landed the part of Titania in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. Referring to Titania’s love affair with a donkey-headed man, under the influence of love potion, Peter teased her about kissing ass.

Though Mary Jane could well defend herself, Gwen had come to her defense. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, then. Didn’t you two used to date?”

“For two weeks!” Peter said. “And we were thirteen! It barely counts.”

“You’re not denying being an ass?” Johnny wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders and pouted. “Does that make me an ass kisser too?” To emphasize, he planted a big wet one on Peter’s cheek.

Peter whined and made a halfhearted attempt to get out of his grasp. “I’m not an ass,” he grumbled. Johnny nibbled on his ear.

“Those were fantastic costumes, though,” Gwen said, changing the subject. “Was that dress as light and airy as it looked?”

Mary Jane had shrugged, stirring more sugar into her decaf. “To a point,” she said. “It was not as comfortable as it may have looked.”

“You know, I’m sure I wouldn’t mind being at the whim of the fairy court,” Johnny said. “It looks like a lot of fun.”

“Unbelievable,” Peter said.

“It does!”

“I don’t want anyone turning my boyfriend into a donkey. I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” Peter said.

Mary Jane and Gwen had left not long after that, and Johnny and Peter had followed suit. Walking home would take a while and they didn’t want to stay out too late.

With Johnny as his own personal heater, Peter didn’t mind it so much. He could keep the both of them warm enough that Peter could have gone out without a hat and gloves if he so chose. It just happened that he preferred to wear them.

“Did you have fun?” Johnny asked, pressing up against Peter as much as he could while they were walking.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “And I’m glad we went when we did. The temperature is supposed to plummet later tonight.” He pointed out the temperature display on the outside of a shop they passed. “And there’s supposed to be a blizzard rolling in over the next couple of days.”

“Oh _no_ ,” Johnny moaned, melodramatic in his tone. “Whatever are we going to do to stay warm?”

Peter cut his eyes at Johnny and pursed his lips. “Well, you know, I _am_ a scientist. I’m sure I can think of something.”

Oh, yes. He had _several_ ideas on how they could keep warm.

Inside the Baxter Building, the moment the elevator doors shut behind them Peter shoved Johnny against the wall, claiming his mouth, hands groping at his scarf and zipper. Joining them on the floor were Peter’s hat and gloves, and not long after that Peter’s hands were up under Johnny’s jacket, pressing into firm abs.

Johnny moaned around Peter’s mouth. “Damn, Pete, we’re—we’re not alone in the building.” He giggled, ruining the admonition.

“I know,” Peter said, drawing Johnny’s lower lip into his mouth to bite it. Johnny hissed, and Peter moved his attention to his throat, licking across his adam’s apple and suctioning his mouth over Johnny’s pulse point.

With a singular determination and lack of care, Peter shrugged out of his coat and practically tore Johnny’s off his shoulders. Johnny laughed and threw his arms around Peter’s neck.

“Wow, okay, it’s gonna be one of _those_ nights, is it?”

“Yeah. Unless you have somewhere important to go in the morning,” Peter said, pressing a line of kisses down Johnny’s neck and over his collarbone. He ground his hips forward, knowing from practice just how to rub with his packer to get Johnny going.

Johnny moaned and bit his lip. “You know I don’t.”

Peter wrapped his arms around and snuck his hands under the waistband of Johnny’s jeans. He squeezed his ass firmly, pressing into his glutes just the way Johnny liked. Johnny pressed his face into Peter’s hair and wrapped one leg up around Peter’s hip.

“We don’t have to, though,” Peter said, slowing down a moment.

“No. Whatever you want,” Johnny panted. “I’m good.”

The elevator dinged sooner than it should have. The two of them turned to look simultaneously as the doors slid open and a very distracted Reed took half a step towards the elevator before he saw them. As disheveled as they were, with Johnny wrapped around Peter like an octopus, it was no mystery what they were up to. He stopped in his tracks, coffee from the mug he carried sloshing onto the floor.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ll… take the stairs.”

Saying nothing, just staring at Reed, Peter reached out to press the _door close_ button. Johnny buried a blushing face into his shoulder.

When they arrived where they actually meant to be, Peter didn’t waste any time in scooping Johnny up and slinging him over his shoulder. Abandoning their discarded outerwear in the elevator, he marched towards Johnny’s room with his cargo.

“Hey!” Johnny laughed.

“You said you wanted to be at the whim of the fairy court,” Peter said. “You can be at mine instead.”

Johnny cupped his hands around his mouth. “Help me, Oberon! A fickle trickster is about to have his way with me!”

Peter snorted. “You’re more likely to get Namor up in here than the king of the fay.”

With no effort at all, Peter tossed Johnny through the air to land on his bed. Johnny shrieked and flailed his limbs, but after he landed he was all giggles. Peter climbed up onto the bed after him, grabbing him by the ankles and dragging him towards the foot of the bed.

It was dim in Johnny’s bedroom, the only light being the orange glow of street lights coming in through the window. Peter leaned over Johnny and they kissed, sighing and moaning against each other. Drawing back after a few minutes, Peter brushed a hand over Johnny’s forehead, pushing his hair back.

“Thank you.”

Johnny’s hands were on Peter’s waist, and he rubbed his thumbs up under the edge of Peter’s shirt. “For what?” he asked softly.

“For being amazing. For being beautiful.” Peter kissed him again, warm and slow. “You know how much I love you?”

“Yeah, but,” Johnny said, eyes twinkling. “You wanna show me again?”

That, Peter could do. He took his time, peeling Johnny’s clothes off of him bit by bit, biting and kissing and licking across Johnny’s skin in ways he knew Johnny loved. By the time he had all of Johnny’s clothes on the floor, Johnny was a mess, breathing hard, pupils blown, leaking precome over his stomach.

He pawed at Peter, whining and biting his lip, trying to tug Peter’s shirt off but Peter wasn’t having it. “Please,” he said. “Pete.”

Pressing a finger to Johnny’s lips, Peter leaned over to the bedside table and tapped the touch-lamp. He touched it twice again until it was at its dimmest setting, and then he dug through the drawer for several items.

Johnny looked over at the dildo sitting upright on the table. “Using your purple dick today?”

“Yep,” Peter grinned.

Traveling down the lean expanse of Johnny’s chest, Peter murmured affection against his skin, teased his tongue into Johnny’s belly button, while rubbing lube slick fingers over his entrance. Johnny sighed at the pressure, parting his legs a bit further in invitation. Peter took that offering, working him open with one hand, and stroking Johnny’s member with the other.

Increasing his attention on pleasing Johnny, Peter licked slowly up and down his erection, swirling his tongue over the head. As he took the hot flesh into his mouth, he rolled his eyes up to look over Johnny’s body, abdomen rolling and flexing as Johnny squirmed and moaned. It thrilled Peter, giving pleasure and watching his lover come undone, making heat throb low between his hips.

Pulling back, he sat up on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it over the side of the bed. He leaned forward to strip out of his pants, and Johnny’s hands were all over him as he tossed them with his packer into the corner of the room. After years of testosterone injections, top surgery, and all the regular workouts he got as Spider-Man, Peter had sculpted his body into something he was very happy with. And it wasn’t that Johnny hadn’t liked it before, but he really got off on Peter’s strong body.

Peter tilted forward and captured Johnny’s lips with his, occupying him while he lubed up the toy. “All right, Titania, you ready for some ass loving?”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” Johnny snorted and covered his face.

Kneeling between Johnny’s thighs, Peter snickered. “Let’s see, I think I’ve got enough love potion to satisfy you here.”

Johnny laughed again. “Stop!” He started to squirm away, but Peter stopped him with a firm squeeze on his thigh.

“Hey, if you wanna compare me to a Shakespeare character with a donkey’s head, you gotta go all in on the analogy.”

Johnny grinned. “Don’t you mean anal-ogy?”

Peter snorted and nearly swallowed his tongue. “Ok you’re right. Let’s stop.”

Johnny bit his lip and looked down at Peter, face flushed and eyes half lidded. “Or we can keep going.”

Peter agreed, and it wasn’t very long before he was kissing Johnny breathless, working the dildo in and out of him with soft, wet noises. Every gasp, every choked noise of pleasure, every jerk of Johnny’s hips, Peter loved it all.

Finally he shoved the toy in and left it there, relying on its shape to keep it in place. Taking a condom package, he ripped it open and gave Johnny’s dick a few long strokes and gentle squeezes with his fist before he rolled it down over him. Squeezing out more lube, he stroked it over Johnny’s erection, teasing the slit through the rubber with his thumb. He was wet and needy, and wanted to feel Johnny’s cock against his _now_.

Peter climbed over him, sliding hands up his sides and rubbing thumbs over his nipples. “You’re perfect,” he said, licking up Johnny’s throat, suctioning his lips over his earlobe.

“So are you.” Johnny caressed Peter’s chest, massaging over his shoulders.

“Sappy jerk,” Peter said. Straddling Johnny’s waist, he moved one hand down and pressed Johnny’s cock between his legs. He rocked his hips, seeking friction while his mouth sought Johnny’s again.

Sometimes it took longer to get him worked up to where he wanted penetration, but he was already so wound up and wet tonight that this wasn’t one of those times. Angling his hips, he shoved down over Johnny’s body, taking him inside, clinging to Johnny’s hips with his thighs.

“Peter!” Johnny gasped, throwing his head back. He made another noise when Peter clenched around him, and bucked his hips.

“There… ah… _like that_ ,” Peter said, leaning forward, letting his body seek out what it wanted. He couldn’t stop kissing Johnny’s neck, his face, rubbing hands over his shoulders while he rode him.

Peter came first, riding out the spasms of pleasure, before he grabbed Johnny and rolled them over. Johnny kissed him hard, working to find his own release, until they were both boneless, collapsed together in a sweaty messy heap.

Well, Peter was sweaty. Damn Johnny and his lack of sweating.

Johnny cleaned them up, leaving for a minute to get a damp towel—during which Peter complained loudly about being cold—but he returned to curl up with Peter again soon enough.

“Who’s an ass now?” Peter said, smiling lazily at Johnny.

Johnny smushed a hand over Peter’s face. “Still you,” he said.

“Thanks,” Peter rolled his eyes, but he pulled Johnny closer.

Johnny tapped the light off, and its absence reminded them that the blinds were still open.

“At least no one can see us,” Peter said.

“You want me to close the blinds anyway? You said it was gonna get cold.”

Peter shook his head and pulled the blankets over them. “What do I care? I’ve got you. Space heater for life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, I am not here to educate about sex with a trans guy, so please don't ask me any questions about specifics. I've just done my best to write it without fetishizing it, because trans guys deserve to be sexual people too.
> 
> I have also consulted with trans guys I'm close to.
> 
> If you really want to know more, here are a couple websites I also consulted:  
> [Your First Time: A Sexual Guide for Trans Men](http://everydayfeminism.com/2015/01/sexual-guide-for-trans-men/)  
> [How To Have Sex With a Trans Man](https://ftmark.wordpress.com/2012/11/02/how-to-have-sex-with-a-transman/)


	7. Day 7: Protectiveness/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter comes home beat up, not for the first time. Johnny will put up with it. Peter thinks about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize. I don't have time/energy to edit this. Will do later.

Exhausted and battered, with evening light bathing the Baxter Building in shades of orange, Peter pried open the window to Johnny’s bedroom from the outside and squeezed inside. Flopping onto the floor he groaned and sprawled across the carpet. Above his head, the ceiling spun strangely, and he draped an arm over his eyes and took deep breaths in an effort to get it to stop.

“There’s a sexy spider on my floor.”

It was Johnny’s voice coming from above him. The thread of anxiety which had wound tight through Peter’s chest loosened, and he sighed. Lifting his arm an inch, he peered at Johnny from underneath it. “I don’t feel sexy. I feel like a concussion.”

Not to mention the acid burns on his legs, courtesy of Scorpion.

Johnny did not comment, but Peter saw the worry wrinkling his brow and twisting his mouth into a frown. The way he swallowed.

“I could go for an aspirin and an ice pack,” Peter said. He took the hand that Johnny offered him and let him help pull him to his feet. He didn’t flinch when johnny tugged his mask off, but Johnny did. Probably because of the massive black eye and a split lip.

“Yeah, Pete, all right,” Johnny said. There was a resigned slump to his shoulders as he turned and walked away, one that Peter was uncomfortably familiar with.

Johnny grabbed the bottle of aspirin and a rubber ice pack from the bathroom cabinet, and then Peter followed him through to the kitchenette in his suite. It was a nice compact affair, and Peter wished the kitchen in his studio apartment were half as efficient. That Johnny’s personal “mini” kitchen was better equipped and more useful than the “full” kitchen at Peter’s place was insulting.

While Johnny went into his fridge to get ice cubes ti fill the bag, Peter stepped up behind him, wishing for more physical contact. He wrapped his arms around Johnny’s waist and propped his chin on Johnny’s shoulder. “Thanks honey bunny, light of my life, flame of my heart. What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know,” Johnny said, shoulders tense as he twisted the cap on the bag. “You’d be a lot colder in the winter.” He pulled out of Peter’s grasp, giving him a gentle squeeze on his wrist as he shoved the bag into his hand.

Something was off. Johnny was mad, and he wasn’t mentioning it. “Hey. I’m fine, Torch. It’s just a few scrapes.” He put the ice to his face and appreciated the immediate relief to the swollen, throbbing bruise.

“I worry.” Johnny stepped away. He grabbed a soda from the fridge and shut the door with more force than was necessary.

“You don’t have to, I’m _fine_ ,” Peter said.

Cracking the tab off his drink, Johnny took a long swig before he answered. “You should worry more about yourself.”

There was a part of Peter that hated when Johnny worried about him. There was a part that loved it. Worry was proof that Johnny cared. That he wasn’t alone in putting himself on the line to fight for those who didn’t have the power that he had to control their own destinies. Johnny understood that Peter had to help when he could. That someone had a vested interest in forcing Peter to take care of himself when he wasn’t doing a good job of it on his own.

Yeah, that was… dysfunctional thinking. Peter was working on it.

But Peter knew what he could handle. His fight with Scorpion hadn’t come close to pushing him to his limits. It wasn’t a problem.

The subject of how well Peter took care of himself was a sore spot between them. Once upon a time, Mary Jane had been the only one who knew his secret identity. It had been hard enough on her, even though he’d done his best to keep the worst of it from her knowledge. He’d hidden injuries, he’d lied.

He was far too good at lying about that, and Johnny knew it.

Peter’s lies and recklessness had caused a rift in his relationship with Johnny a number of months earlier. Peter felt that Johnny was consistently patronizing him. Johnny was tired of the lies and obfuscation. They had fought about it. They’d had a string of increasingly hostile fights about it, to be exact. To the point that Johnny thought that Peter had a thing for Betty Brant at the Daily Bugle.

After an especially bad argument, Peter had run home and hadn’t answered his phone for two days. But Johnny hadn’t called him anyway.

That was how they’d ended up tacitly agreeing to break up. Which lasted all of three weeks before Peter was banging on Johnny’s window at 2am in the rain with a big bunch of flowers, begging forgiveness.

That had been a month ago, and the subject of Peter’s carelessness was still a tender one. Neither wanted to specifically address it for fear of bringing all the old arguments back again. They were still feeling their way around the rough edges of their mended relationship.

One thing Peter knew now, he would absolutely relent if Johnny pushed the issue. Being away from him had hurt too much for him to do anything else.

“You thirsty?” Johnny said.

Peter mumbled assent, and Johnny opened the fridge again to toss him a can.

“Need anything else? Antiseptic? A facial? Foot massage?” Johnny was definitely unhappy with him. He was staring at the acid burns on Peter’s legs.

“No, I just want to lie down and let the aspirin do its job,” Peter said.

“I was watching a movie. Join me?”

Peter nodded. “I’ve got to put on some real clothes, first.”

Johnny snorted. “Well, it’s not like you haven’t taken over several of my drawers already.”

“Yes, I see you’re wearing my socks.”

Johnny shrugged. Peter rolled his eyes, and went back into Johnny’s bedroom to strip and throw on sweatpants and a tshirt.

A minute later, Johnny was lying on the couch lengthwise, with his back to the back of the couch, and Peter lay down in front of him, spooned by his warmth. He put the ice pack on the cushion under his head so that he could press his face into it without holding it.

Johnny draped one arm over him, and ran his fingers through Peter’s hair with the other.

Peter loved him. Despite their frequent disagreements, Peter loved him more than anything. Tender moments like this were precious to him.

“Did you still want to take Franklin and Valeria to Coney Island while your sister and Reed are out of town over the weekend?” Peter asked, not really paying attention to the movie which he’d seen a couple dozen times already.

Johnny hummed. “Oh most definitely. I promised. Only Galactus could keep me from a promise I make to those two. Not even Stilt Man could do it.”

“They’re great kids,” Peter agreed. “Anyone would be lucky to have kids like them.”

“Mm-hm,” Johnny murmured. This was followed by a heavy pause, filled only with sound from the movie.

It wasn’t hard to fathom Johnny’s thoughts. Peter knew that Johnny wanted kids. It wasn’t something that he’d kept a secret, but it wasn’t something that he’d specifically discussed with Peter. He probably didn’t want to upset Peter or make him feel dysphoric. Johnny worried like that. It was an indication of how much more he valued Peter than his desire to have kids that he hadn’t brought it up. Truth was, Peter wanted to be a dad, himself. But the word _mother_ still hung around in his thoughts, taunting him.

There was another conversation that he wanted to have first. A conversation that required an accessory that Peter had been saving up to buy for months. Since before they’d been separated for a while, actually. Then that had happened, and he’d had to put off his plans. It was hard to make plans and find the time, between his freelance photography, getting his teaching license, and his part time superhero gig.

Peter was waiting for the right moment to propose. The more time passed, the more he wanted to marry Johnny and make him his. Wanted to make a promise that was public for everyone to see. _I, Peter Parker, love this man and want him in my life forever_.

He’d take the ring with him that weekend. He never knew when the right moment would just _happen_ , and he wanted to be prepared.

Peter wanted to ask Johnny about his day, what he’d been up to, but he was far too worn out, and Johnny was far too warm and cozy. He was asleep soon enough, soothed by Johnny’s presence and massaging fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these guys too much. T_T I really really don't need another longfic WIP when I can hardly work on the ones I've got but I guess it's gonna happen. Probably not soon, unless I get swarmed with dozens of desperate readers.


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